The Passionate Tomato
by LollipopTurtle
Summary: If only college student Lovino hadn't stormed down to that apartment and demanded they turn their deafening music down. If he had went back to bed and put on some headphones, his life could be without this stark raving madness. But he had to make it loud, flashy, and ostentatious. Ah well, Murphy created his famous law for a reason. Rated T for cursing. Human AU.
1. Chapter 1: Poor Lovino just can't rest

**This is my first multi-chapter! Hope y'all like it!**

 **Disclaimer- No, I do not own Hetalia, sadly.**

W **arning-Cursing. This is Lovino we're talking about**

~~~~~~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~~~~~~~

Lovino groaned as the pounding beat filled his apartment. He had to go to classes tomorrow, dammit! If those fucking idiots could just keep it down. The 21 year old man grimaced as he sat up, pulling on a pair of shorts and a loose grey wife beater. He slowly made his way out of his apartment and to the next floor down. God above all, it was even louder down here! Who decides to have a party at two o'clock in the morning? And how was nobody else awake? Those bastards would pay.

"Oi! Open up!" He shouted as he rapped his knuckles against the door. He raised his voice. "Open up now!"

Lovino stepped back as the door began to open. The Italian was new to the apartment complex and expected to see some stoned teenager. Instead, he was greeted with the sight of a sleepy eyed spaniard.

"Hola. What do you want?" He yawned, blinking blearily. The green eyed man seemed oblivious to the racket in the background. In fact, he seemed to be acting as if _Lovino_ had woken him.

This royally ticked the hot tempered man off. "What the hell do you think I want! I want you to turn your damn music down, idiota!" He said, his face scarlet in fury.

The elder brunette turned to look in his apartment, as if noticing it for the first time. "Oh, it's just my roommates having some fun. You get used to it after a while. Now, if you please." He replied sleepily. The man just seemed eager to go back to bed as he began to close the door. The hazel eyed man stuck his foot in to stop the door from closing.

"I don't think so, bub. Tell your pals to turn down the fucking music, or I'll turn it down for you." Loving had no way of keeping that promise, he had always picked the flight over fight, but it sounded tough.

The tanned man eyed him before slowly stepping back and fully opening the door. "Okay, turn it down." He stated simply.

The Italian gaped. That bastard wasn't supposed to throw a curveball! He was supposed to cower in fear and awe! Mustering up the minuscule courage he had, he stepped inside. And then stepped straight back out. Nope. This was a trap. He had seen enough horror movies. A handsome man lures you into his home, only to trap you and eat you alive. Loving turned, ready to run, when suddenly a hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him short. He turned, expecting to see the spaniard.

"What do you want, bast-" He stopped. This wasn't the Spanish bastard. This man was completely different.

The hand belonged to a blonde with his hair pulled back in a loose ponytail, held by a dark indigo ribbon. His blue eyes sparkled, and as soon as he spoke it became apparent he was french by his accent.

"Ah, what have we here? Come to join the party?" the francophone asked, a single eyebrow arched suggestively. Loving gulped. Defiantly horror movie-esque. Where the hell had this man come from? He tugged himself away from the loose grip. "

"I'm not here to join some stupid party! I need you to quiet the fuck down! I swear, I'm going to have the land lord's ass all over you!"

"Oh, really? Well, that would be wonderful, seeing as I've been trying to get her ass on me for some time now, though you would do just as well." He replied smoothly. The Italian turned an even brighter red, if possible, and the spaniard gave a quiet chuckle.

"You look just like a tomato, mi amigo ~" He said lazily as he leaned against the old white doorframe. Suddenly, a third german accented voice chimed in.

"What's with you and your tomatoes, Antonio? I swear, you compare everything from dogs to women with them."

The Italian suppressed a groan. Where were all these people coming from? They just didn't stop, did they? Like bees to nectar. He shook his head. More like mosquitoes to fresh blood. Fantastic. They were now vampires, and he was the poor victim.

A very pale man expertly slid down the waxed wooden floor in socks, stopping just before he ran into the brunette, who's name was apparently Antonio or something. Loving did a double take. Was the man an albino or something? He was way more than pale. He was positively a ghost, and his eyes were a deep scarlet. Or maybe that vampire analogy was closer to the truth than he originally thought. Either way, the young man who, he was quickly realizing, was outsized by all these men, just wanted to get away by now. Unfortunately, the frenchman's hand on his shoulder kept him rooted on the old wooden floorboards.

The said albino eyed the smaller man curiously. "Hey, he really does look like a tomato. Well, you had to get it right someday."

Any concerned onlooker would have noticed by now that the surrounded man looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. The man had the worst possible combination of embarrassment and anger which most people only got after they called a teacher mom and the class was laughing at them. He finally found his voice, though it was rather shrill.

"What the hell you bastards! I just wanted you to turn down your music so I can sleep! Now let me go and leave me the hell alone!"

The frenchman, seeming to realize he was still holding the feisty Italian in place, easily released him. "Are you sure you don't want to stay? I'll let you sleep with me." He purred. The Italian shivered. Really, how many pick up lines did this infuriating frenchman have?

Antonio yawned loudly. "I think he's right. It's about time we go to bed. How can you all stay up for so long?"

The german man standing behind him grinned. "All a healthy man needs for that is chips, red bull, and porn."

The frenchman nodded. "Or wine for the more refined man."

The hazel eyed man looked around cautiously. Good, they were distracted. He was still surrounded, though. There was that German straight ahead of him, the Spaniard leaning against the wall to his right, and the french guy to his left. If he moved an inch any of them could reach out their arm and grab him. He could run quickly, he was the fastest in his high school cross country team a few years ago. All he needed was an opening… there! The french bastard had moved closer to Antonio and given him an opening, with a perfect view of the stairs. Lovino reached into his pocket, making sure he was holding his key, and made a run for it. He sprinted, practically leaping up the stairs three at a time, hearing a squawk of surprise from the German. The college student fumbled slightly as he unlocked his door and slammed it shut behind him. This music was still going on, and he heard sounds of raucous laughter coming from downstairs. Damn, this was going to be a long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~~~~~~

 **I'd like to thank MageOfFandoms for telling me that my story was originally published in code. How the heck does that happen? Oh well. So, the bad touch trio lives in the same apartment complex as Romano? Scary. Anyways, I need help. I want to put some minor relationships in my story, but I don't know who to put France and Prussia with. You see, I ship Prussia with Austria and Canada, but I ship France with Canada and England, but I ship England with America and Japan, (At this point the police have come to take this pathetic, insane, confused author away to the asylum.) and I ship America with Japan, but Japan and Greece are soulmates, and Greece is shipped with turkey, but Turkey loves Egypt...mumble...mumble...**

 **This poor little high school girl lives for reviews. Tell me if you can read this story this time, too. Also, I have no beta, so tell me if I spelled something wrong or grammared incorrectly. THANKIES!**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


	2. Chapter 2: The woman in Lovino's life

**Authors note: Hiya guys! So, just to let you know beforehand, I have no idea where this story's going. I gave it life, and now it's going to drag me along for the ride. Fun, right? Right. Anyways, on with the show~**

 **Disclaimer- me no owny Hetalia, or supernatural. Just thought I'd throw that in.**

 **Warning- Language.**

Lovino groaned as his slammed the door to his apartment and leaned against it. College today was hell. No, it was worse then hell. It was like he had bitch slapped a pro wrestler two times his size, who happened to be the spawn of Satan. Or God. Angels could be terrifyingly vengeful. At least, according to Supernatural. His eyes blinked shut for the moment, and he swayed on his feet. Damn those fucking assholes. They had stayed up until four in the morning. FOUR O'CLOCK IN THE GODDAM MORNING. That was not acceptable, especially since he now had to start on his first day at work in a couple hours.

Staggering forward, the Italian fell face-first on his couch. Keeping up an apartment was harder than he thought, since his grandfather had only agreed to pay half the rent after Lovino had been kicked out of his dorm. In his defense, though, who could leave a pathetic kitten out in the rain? And how was he supposed to know that no animals were allowed in the dorm? Never mind the fact that it was stated in bold on the rules and guidelines. Who actually reads those anyways? Wimps, that's who. Speaking of kittens…

Lovino rolled off the couch, flopping over onto the white carpeted floor before calling out,"Food, come and get it!"

His cat, Micina, rushed towards his owner. She then looked down, unimpressed at the brunette sprawled across the floor. Her lean, white and tan patched body stretched as she leaped onto the Italians toned stomach, kneading her claws into the man's black t-shirt. Loving shot up, yelping, and the cat quickly scurried off him.

"Dammit? What was that for?"

Micina glared at him before mewing plaintively. He had said food, she had expected food. Simple.

Lovino sighed before smiling as he slowly got up and went to the kitchen to fill the kitten's bowl to the brim with chow, his cat following closely at his heels. He crouched down as he refilled the silver bowl, and patted the eager feline. That girl was a handful, that's for sure. She was pushy, annoying, loud, and her bark was way worse than her bite. Frankly, she was Lovino's match. And the only affectionate woman in his life. The Italian ran his hands through his hair. Okay, that was depressing. Like, seriously. He got down from his crouched position when he felt the circulation in his legs being cut off.

Glancing up at the clock, he realized he had about four hours left before work. That was more than enough time to finish his homework and take a nap, right? The brunette was really going to need to be in a tolerating mood for his new job as a waiter, and being sleep deprived wouldn't help. The hazel-eyed man made his way to his bedroom, going down a sleek hallway with plenty of art on the walls.

The Italian's apartment was spacious, with one bathroom, a master bedroom, large living room, and kitchen. It even had a coat closet next to the door. All a bachelor would need to be in nirvana. The home itself had a cozy yet modern look, with many paintings, large windows, and cream walls. The views weren't exactly noteworthy, but there was a park nearby, which was moderately interesting. The furniture was more angled towards comfort then fashion, but it still worked in the end, creating a unique work of mismatched furniture.

Sitting cross legged on his bed, Lovino grabbed his laptop to finish up on his essay that was due tomorrow. Actually, bed was a loose term. The young man had splurged and bought a few to many couches off Amazon. Why? He had no idea. The brunette had been drunk, so sue him. The result was that Lovino didn't need a bed. Since no one else lived with him, he had lined couches against the walls of his bedroom, and in the center were two couches facing each other, with the cushions facing the inside. There were quilts flooding the room and pillows strewn haphazardly about. The result resembled a giant fort children made, or a couch warehouse gone horribly wrong. The point was, he could sleep anywhere there in any position and it would be cushiony and warm. And that was what counted.

An hour passed by, where the only sounds being heard were the clicking away of keys and occasional mewing from Micina. Finally, the essay was done, and Lovino's brain was fried. He put his laptop aside and drifted off into a peaceful slumber.

~~~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~~~

A rude knocking on the front door jarred the college student awake. Groaning, the sleep-deprived man rose, pushing aside a rather warm and fluffy red quilt. He haphazardly made his way through the sea of colorful blankets, all the while mourning his loss of comfort. Whoever it was out there, he was going to wring their neck. Feeling a slight sense of deja vu as he slowly made his way to the door, he glared through the peephole, hoping to kill whoever was standing there with his death glare. It didn't work, sadly. Great. Human contact instead of bed.

Not even his brother, who was the epitome of a rainbow-assed social butterfly, would be all smiles and shit in this situation. Tiredly, he unlocked the door, as whoever was standing there would not fucking stop with their incessant pounding. He hadn't see the person, as the had been standing too close to the peephole. Throwing the white entrance open, he stared. Un-fucking-believable. The familiar spaniard waved a cheeky hello. The Italian promptly slammed the door and locked it again with an audible "click". The pounding started up again. Apparently the idiot had now figured out how to use his bronze knocker, because it was five times louder. Fuck.

"Hey, Sēnor Tomate~! Please open the door back up!"

How stupid was this bastard? Honestly, Lovino couldn't comprehend it. "Go fuck off!"

"Aww, but I came all the way here to say hi to my new neighbor! And I brought tomatoes." He said, somewhat dejectedly.

This sparked the younger Italian's interest. He was running low on that delectable red fruit, now that he thought about it. He turned on his heel and cautiously reopened the door, poking his head out of the entrance.

"Tomatoes?"

"Sí! They're homegrown, you want some?"

Lovino opened the door all the way and stepped out, shutting the entrance behind him. No way was he letting this psycho in his house. But the tomatoes, they could stay.

"Okay, talk. You've got five minutes to get through your good samaritan routine before I leave." He said grumpily. He really just wanted sleep, but five minutes of his precious nap time were worth a basket of ripe tomatoes.

 **Authors note: Wow. Sorry about all this random filler. I promise the real story will start the next chapter. Probably. Anyways, that may not be how you pictured Romano's bedroom, but I've always wanted a room like that, and I'm the author so I say screw it. By the way, Micina is Italian for a female kitten. Creative, right? I just can't see Romano naming a cat something like Fluffy or Stacy. I know this chapter was a bit slow, as I already said, but I sort of wanted you guys to get an image of what everyone's favorite southern Italian's usual home life is. You know, before he officially meets his neighbors.**

 **Reviews are my fuel! Thanks!**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


	3. Chapter 3: Apparently Lovino's cursed

**Authors note: Hello friends, enemies, ladies, and you few gentlemen who are into Hetalia! Welcome, and congratulations for sticking around with this story! You get a cookie. (::) Yay! Now, let the curtains part…**

 **Disclaimer- Je ne possède pas Hetalia, désole.**

 **Warning- Jerer (Cussing)**

 **(Also, see if you can spot any references.)**

 **Antonio's POV~**

Antonio lit up as he saw the little Italian open the door. He smiled broadly, wanting to introduce himself. Maybe they could become best friends! After all, that little Italian was absolutely adorable, if a bit loud and foul-mouthed. Then the door slammed in his face. Antonio deflated a little before perking back up. Maybe the little brunet had thought he was a salesman? Gilbert always slammed the door in there faces too, though it seemed a bit rude to the Spaniard. Antonio grabbed the little tomato-man's knocker and started rapping against the door again, louder this time.

"Hey!" Then the curly haired man paused. Oh my, he didn't know the brunet's name, did he. Well, he did look a bit like a tomato sometimes. There! That was his new temporary name. This whole thought process miraculously happened within a few seconds, so there was no real awkward silence. "Sēnor Tomate~! Please open the door back up!

"Go fuck off."

Antonio paused. That was awful rude. Could the younger man still be thinking he was a salesman? The Spaniard knew it was unlikely, but he was willing to give it a try. He wasn't unintelligent, just very optimistic. For example, if you had asked him whether or not a glass was half full, he would fill it up completely with water, give it to someone who needed a drink, and when the glass was empty he would say it was still full of possibility. That's the type of person he was.

"Aww, but I came all the way here to say hi to my new neighbor! And I brought tomatoes…"

It was true. Antonio figured there was no better housewarming gift than tomatoes, since everyone loved them, right? So he had gathered the best tomatoes off his plants and lugged them up the stairs in a cardboard box. If the tenant refused, he would be forced to carry them back down. Then that would be a lot of wasted energy for nothing.

Then he heard the tentative question.

"Tomatoes?"

"Sí! They're homegrown, you want some?"

The door opened a crack, and he saw a hazel eyed face peek out suspiciously before walking out completely. The Italian cautiously shut the door behind him, still looking unsurely towards his neighbor.

"Okay, talk. You've got five minutes to get through your good samaritan routine before I leave." He said, crossing his arms.

The Spaniard stared. Wow, that brunet was a lot more adorable in daylight. And how did he get that one curl to stay up? He seemed thin but toned, he must jog or-

"Are you going to fucking say anything or sit there and stare like a freak?"

Brought out of his reverie, Antonio shook his head. He had a limited amount of time, didn't he. Completely forgetting his (somewhat) scripted speech, he did the next best thing. He rambled.

"Oh yeah! Well then, my name is Antonio Fernández Carriedo, and I live downstairs from you with two roommates, and I really like tomatoes, and I have a pet turtle named Esperanza, and I'm twenty six years old, and-"

~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~

 **Lovino's POV-**

This was amazing. Fucking amazing. That bastard hadn't seemed to pause and take a breath in- Lovino checked his watch- the last three and a half minutes. Wow. Even he was fairly impressed, though a bit more involved with being fucking pissed off. He had long since tuned out the curly haired man's consistent blathering and was mentally preparing his presentation on stocks for tomorrow in class.

"Hello?"

Lovino was snapped back to reality.

"Hmm? Yeah. I'm listening." he said in a flat tone.

"What's your name? I never did ask." He tilted his head questioningly.

"Lovino." Just because the man had brought him a box of enticing heaven, doesn't mean he agreed to a conversation. A beep came from his watch, startling them both. Five minutes were up. "Okay then, give me my tomatoes and go away."

Antonio grinned brightly and gave Lovino the box. A deal was a deal. Lovino grunted under the weight. Damn, how the hell were tomatoes such a bitch to carry? Shifting the box precariously into one arm, he reached over to open the door. The now locked door. The one, that he constantly forgot, sealed shut as soon as anyone closed it. Reaching into his pockets, he grabbed for his keys. All he got was a handful of lint. Oh…fuck.

Putting the cardboard box on the ground, the small Italian rooted around frantically in his jean pockets to no avail. Antonio looked on, slightly concerned by this odd behavior.

"What's wrong Lovi?"

Lovino paused. Oh no. No way had that bastard just given him a nickname a few minutes after they had officially met. Especially since he had now officially lost hope of getting his keys, which he had remembered leaving on the counter. He couldn't get a new set of keys until two days from now, either, because the landlady had decided this week was a great time to go on a cruise to the Bahamas.

Slowly standing up, Lovino gazed at the spaniard with an unusually patient look on his face. Even the other brunet quickly realized that this was the calm before the storm. Oh God, if only he knew. The verbal beating he was going to get would send anyone who was even slightly less thick close to tears. Good thing Antonio was thicker than the Great Wall of China.

"What the fuck do you think is wrong, you bastard! My fucking house and car keys are locked in my apartment, and I can't get a copy of the my house key for two days! I fucking swear, why is it whenever I fucking see you something fucking goes wrong, you damn bastard! I've got a fucking cat in there that's depending on me for fucking food, and if she starves and dies it's you damn fault!"

~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~~

On and on he shouted, but Antonio seemed to have followed Lovino's lead when it came to someone else talking and had completely drowned him out, instead taking in how Lovino's face was slowly turning an adorable tomato red again. Awww~

"You want to come to my home and use our phone?"

This effectively stopped the Italian from his tirade. A phone would be nice. He could probably call up Mathew or Kiku and ask if he could stay over for a while. Contrary to popular belief, he did have good friends, and he really didn't want to spend a hundred on a locksmith.

"Sure… bastard. Your roommate better not try and hit on me again."

Antonio nodded. "Sì. Francis isn't here right now. He's out on a date."

So, Francis was the wine bastard's name? Great. You learn a new thing every fucking day, don't you. Life's a school, after all, and your it's bitch. And wasn't the spaniard just a fucking ray of sunshine up the ass? He sure was a pain like one. Wait. Hadn't he tagged the curly haired bastard as a psycho a couple seconds ago? So why had he put the tomatoes down in front of the door and started following him? Maybe because he'd rather be killed by a homicidal maniac than fork over a couple of dollar bills to a locksmith? Priorities, after all, Lovino was a business-man-in-training.

Arriving at 221B, the spaniard calmly unlocked his door, and by this point he might as well have been a saint for all he's put up with. Any sane person would have booted the fuming Italian off the leaning tower of Pisa, or a tall building in London, after two minutes with him.

 _Of all the assholes to be stuck with as a new neighbor._ (Ironically, both of these two cretins were having the same thought at the same time. Great minds think alike, eh?)

Antonio nonchalantly walked inside, but Lovino stuck around for a bit outside. He quickly viewed the room for any warning signs. You know, like clown paintings or baseball bats, or, you know, a fucking rifle hanging on the wall. Or a whole collection of them. He knew Vash, and you never could tell from first glance who was really a maniac. As he learned the hard way. But, _damn_ , Lily was hot. The near glance with death he had experienced was worth her number.

Anyways, the point was you never could tell. It's always the quiet ones, isn't it? After quickly scanning the room and seeing no obvious mutilated bodies, he deemed it safe for the next five minutes he was going to spend in there. Following after the older man, he looked around. Wow, there were some really clashing tastes. Not that he was one to talk. But one moment there would be a painting of a grassy field, the next there was a Kiss album, and then… He completely avoided that area which would not be spoken of. Needless to say, it obviously belonged to Francis.

"Here's the phone. Please don't spend hours on it. Our phone bills are already high enough as it is." There may have or may not have been the slightest hint of exasperation in the spaniards voice. But only a _slight_ bit.

Yes, the green eyed godsend for women all over may have been very patient. No, that did not mean that he didn't have a minor temper that, when pressed, meant he would go all conquistador on whatever unfortunate individual's ass was nearest. It usually took a long time of wearing him down to get to that point, but the Italian was pressing all the right buttons.

"Yeah, yeah, great. Now hand me the fucking phone."

Yep. Pressing all the right buttons in the right order. Unfortunately, this would not win him a secret level in a Mario game. Far from it.

Lovino sighed as he practically caressed the cellular device. Now, who would he call? Never mind Mathew and Kiku, he had forgotten they still lived in dorms, along with all of his other friends, enemies, and acquaintances. Wait, Roma lived fairly close. Why not call his own past guardian? Quickly dialing the number, by now it was muscle memory, the phone rang. And rang. By the fourth toll it was picked up.

 _'Hello?'_ Said a slightly breathless female voice. The Italian ended the call. His grandfather was actually rather young after all, and GOD now he really couldn't get that image out of his head. Now he wanted to just salt and torch his brain. Fucking geckos on fire that burned!

Groaning, he slumped down to the ground. Yes, he could probably still call Feliciano, but he didn't even want to look at the sleek silver device, much less touch it. Maybe he could just hot-wire his car and drive to his job. But what would he do about Micina? She was still trapped in the apartment. Them again, she had raised his water bills by ten-fold in the last month because she figured out how to use the tap, and she could open cabinets full of food easily. Thinking about it, the Italian realized she was fairly self sufficient. He really needed to get those toddler locks for his cabinets. Dragging himself back up, he leaned heavily on the granite countertop. Dialing his brothers number, he reluctantly put the phone to his ear. This time, the phone only rang once.

 _'Hello'_ said a gruff, german, manly-man voice that defiantly did not belong to his brother. Great. So Ludwig's over. This time the brunet slammed down the phone. Karma, luck, and all things sugary and good truly hated him, didn't they?

 **Authors note: So this was unusually long. At least for me. Someone corrected me and told me that my 'brunette' should actually be spelled 'brunet'. Thanks! I told you guys that I have limited knowledge in english. (Apparently living in America all my life doesn't do much for me.) So, I'm sorry that I haven't gotten to the really juicy stuff yet, but I've decided to actually develop their relationship over a period of time instead of finishing the story in the convenient seven chapters I planned. Last call. Usuk or Fruk? The winning question. I ship both of them equally, but if I get no votes for either I'm going with Fruk. (A tip of the hat to you, TheFreakZone.) Any other pairings you guys would like? Just to let you know, Gerita and Spamano are here to stay. (Without Spamano there wouldn't be much of a story, would there?)By the way, the turtle's name ,Esperanza, comes from a book I read in fourth grade, Esperanza Rising. I remembered it being pretty good. Reviews are more greatly appreciated than you could imagine.**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **-LollipopTurtle**


	4. Chapter 4: Thus we meet the third stooge

**Authors not: HI! Sorry about my hiatus- stoppy story- unhappiness thingy! I got a nasty grade in geometry on my report card, so my parents took away my computer as punishment, but I'm back and better that ever, baby! WOOH! Okay.**

 **Warning: Cursing. Really? Do you guys still even read this?**

 **Disclaimer: Hetalia belongs not to me, but to the ever-beloved**

 **Hima-papa. So sorry.**

 **Antonio's POV**

~~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~~~

The young man frowned as he heard the racket coming from the living room. It sounded like the little Italian had decided to declare war upon his poor phone. This really wouldn't do. It may have been an older model of a home phone with a cord, but it was a good older model of a home phone with a cord. After all, it still worked, which was unusual after the tirades that Gilbert and Francis usually set upon it. Most phones only lasted two weeks, two and a half tops, but this one had stuck around for three months.

Getting up from his relaxed position on his armchair, he made his way to the pandemonium. This guy was supposed to talk for five minutes and leave, no questions asked. Sure, the spaniard felt a bit guilty about the whole door-locking situation, but it wasn't really his fault, was it? Feet all but dragging, it was a slow, gloomy procession. Using his shoulder to push the swinging door open, he made his way into the other room. Then halted.

Suppressed giggles turned to chuckles, which turned to full out deep-throated laughter. Practically doubling over, he watched the red faced Italian try to get untangled from the wires. It seemed as if Lovino had gotten into a fight with the cream home phone and was losing terribly. He was slumped against the counter and had somehow completely trapped himself inside a cage of knotted bits and ends. It was truly a piece of art worthy of the MOMA. Staggering forward, the curly haired man bent down beside the little tomato faced man to help.

Lovino suddenly seemed to have noticed the green eyed man. "What are you laughing at, _cazzo_? Your shitty phone attacked me and you're standing there? What kind of host are you?"

Antonio tried to stop his fit to no avail. " _Lo siento_ , mi amigo! It's just, how does someone get to that position?" He choked out between snickers. The younger man scowled at the elders good humor.

"Who the fuck cares? Help me get out of this. Where'd you buy this thing from anyway, hell?"

That was actually a valid point on little Lovi's part. The seller on eBay from which this particular item had come from had been rather shady, and every once in a while it rang and no one was on the other line. It was really kind of creepy. But in the end it worked like a charm, so it didn't really matter whether or not it was possessed. As long as it didn't rack up there phone bills any higher than what Gilbert and Francis created, the small ghost was welcome to call to it's little hearts desire.

Kneeling down, he tried to un-knot the wires.

"Stop struggling, this will only take a moment." The spaniard had to get some wires out of Lovino's hair. He somehow had gotten them hopelessly entwined together.

"Ow, watch it! That hurts, bastard."

"Just hang on, I'm almost done."

If this had been a movie, the spaniard would have had a friend with a questionable sexuality run in after hearing this conversation from afar. They would then ask, without taking in the actual circumstances, how the spaniard had gotten the hot neighbors tight little ass. This, however, was not a movie, so the friend's sexuality was quite obvious to any onlooker who had the unfortunate luck to encounter him.

"Oi, Antonio! Score! You got him laid after only a day! Not a new record, but still pretty good."

The tanned man looked up, nonplussed. He had gotten used to his german friend's antics, and he was pretty much immune to this charade. The Italian, who looked as if he were going to have a heart attack soon, obviously wasn't.

"What are you talking about, bastard? As if I would get together with this guy!"

"Well, at least your first answer wasn't 'I couldn't, I'm straight' so there's still hope!"

This really seemed to hit a mark. "What the hell are you talking about, fuckhead? What does my sexuality have to do with anything?"

"Ah, defensive. So, masochist or sadist?" The albino said as he leisurely slumped down next to the Italian, elbowing him slightly in the ribs and giving a shit-eating grin.

"Gilbert, I think you may have broken him."

The poor brunet, who was still ensnarled, seemed to have malfunctioned. He had started babbling a string of indiscernible words- actually, was that Italian?- in rapid fire. Then, seemingly realizing no one could understand a thing he was saying, he switched to english. It was still too fast, and neither of them could make out a thing. Shrugging away the matter, since the Italian would probably be able to afford a therapist, Antonio finally got the last wire unraveled. Immediately leaping up, all grace seeming to have deserted the boy, Lovino clumsily tried to run away, only to be stopped.

Wow. This really was deja vu, wasn't it? History was supposed to repeat, but not this soon. The young man grabbed the hand on his shoulder and tried to pull it off, only managing to make them both drunkenly collapse on a nearby sofa. Gilbert smirked as the Italian landed with an 'oof' on his lap.

"Eager to cut to the chase, huh?" He asked, patting the flushed man on his head. Antonio groaned slightly and went to save the damsel in obvious distress before the little guy had a hernia.

A dead man in the living room would look nasty, no matter the reason. Judging from Lovino's expression, though, maybe the oblivious idiot he was sitting on would be the one he would have to clean up. Getting bloodstains out of the carpet was hard.

"Let the nice neighbor go before he kills you." Antonio said in a firm voice, as if he were talking to a dog. This, he had learned, was pretty much the only way to get Gilbert to do anything. It was really the only time he ever sounded even slightly strict.

Reluctantly, Lovi was released. In a whirlwind comparable to the Tasmanian Devil, he was gone.

"Gil, I think you're the reason no one in this complex visits."

"What're you talking about? I'm fucking awesome. It's Francis who drives them out. He's the raging pervert."

The irony of that statement seemed to go unnoticed by either of the roommate as they watched the open door from which the Italian had ripped through swing slightly in the breeze.

~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~

 **Lovino's POV**

Sweet Jesus on crackers, what was wrong with those people? Something was seriously wrong when that Spanish bastard was actually normal when compared to those bastards of roommates he had. No, bastards wasn't creative enough. These guys were in a class of there own. A trio of hooligans.

Let's see, there was that french pervert, who is now on and forever named wine-fucker. That worked, as long as you didn't think to much on the meaning of it. And that german guy, Gilbert, right? What was it with all these fucking germans? Anyways, he was now hailed as the Prussian-bastard. Why Prussian? Who knows. It just seemed to stick. And lastly, that fucking annoying (And admittedly hot, _nononono_ we are not going down that road mister you have had your doughnut privileges revoked!) Spanish guy would now be called tomato-bastard. Honestly, tomato's were amazing, but being an illegitimate child of a fruit was really nothing to be proud of. And all together they were the Bad Touch Trio.

 _(There was a problem with naming these guys, though. After all, it's a well known fact that once you name it, you start getting attached to it. Or, you know, it wriggles it's way inside your life like a tapeworm and feeds off your nutrients, and therefore becomes attached to you. The end result is usually the same, though. Messy and full of pain. Lovino should really start watching Disney. He could learn an awful lot about life.)_

 **Authors note: And there you have it, folks! A glorious confusion of 26 letters and a few symbols mixed together to create this monstrosity! Somehow, I'm not happy with this. I really wanted to advance this plot a bit further. That'll just have to wait. *** ** _sigh_** *** There was supposed to be some awkward pre-relationship fluff in this! *** ** _her sighs have now turned to wails of agony and disappointment_** *** Also, should I change the genre from drama to humor? Because I don't think there's been to much angst so far, but I don't know if this is actually amusing or if it's all in my strange little head.**

 **Thanks for reading and see you on the flipside! Reviews are my triforce of power! PLEASE! Love y'all.**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


	5. Chapter 5: Drive Mr Jerk to work day

**Author's note: Nice to see y'all again! Sorry if these updates are kind of sporadic. I'll try to even them out to every Saturday or something. To those who live in 'Murica, I hope your Thanksgiving was great! I'm ate half my body weight in turkey.**

~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~~

An ear piercing whistle could be heard practically halfway around the world. A certain brunet waved his hand in the air..

"Oi! Taxi!"

The yellow cab drove right by him as if he weren't there. Lovino, in response, let out a string of choice words. There's no way that cabbie hadn't seen him. He was wearing neon blue and was the loudest fucker on the street. His blind and deaf great grandmother could have found him if she weren't, you know, dead. That's always a minor setback.

The completely sweet tempered (*sarcasm*) Italian trudged onwards. This really sucked. That was the third taxi to pass him. He was a willing, paying customer. Why wouldn't they just fucking stop?

A car passed by him, close to the curb. It has rained hard a couple days ago, and anyone who has seen a clichéd movie with a tragic scene in it would know what happened next. Of course they would. Lovino got drenched as the car's wheels created a spray of mud that arched gracefully in the sky, aiming to land right upon him. The brunet stopped as suddenly as he had started. The dirt and water he was showered with really seemed to open his eyes at that moment, and God presented him with the ultimate epiphany.

Karma was a royal bitch.

Lovino wasn't really sure what he had done. Yeah, he lost his temper often, but he didn't deserve this. The worst thing he'd ever done was accidentally strike a bird with a slingshot. And his nine year old self had cried and nursed it back to health! Sure, he wasn't a great _person,_ but what did he do to deserve this? Nothing. That's what. And with this final thought, Lovino turned around to go home.

Screw work. Screw school. Screw life. Lovino would just sit in his room and eat a carton of ice cream. Or he would, he realized, if he wasn't freaking _locked out of his apartment._ It's funny how easily someone can forget a tiny thing like that. Today was really not Lovino's day. Head hanging low, Lovino looked like a pathetic half drowned creature. Anyone who wasn't a total asshole would feel pity for him somewhere in their hearts. Hands shoved in the pockets of his designer jeans, the Italian made his way back towards the apartments because, frankly, he had nowhere else to go at the moment. Maybe he'd just sleep outside on his welcome mat like a hobo. That would work.

A jet black motorcycle pulled up next to the figure. Antonio pulled off his bike helmet to ask the stranger what was wrong. After all, he had just witnessed the poor guy get a full face of random street crap. The spaniard was just a nice guy like that, and not a total asshole. (Unlike all the other pedestrians) Shock crossed his features when he realized he knew this guy, and he almost immediately regretted pulling over. God, he would probably get an earful about how loud his bike was and-

"What do you want." Came a tired voice. The spaniard looked towards the Italian in surprise. No cussing him out? This was a novelty.

"I was just checking to see if you were alright, Lovi. Sorry if I disturbed you."

"It's nothing." the younger Italian said he he proceeded on his way. Looking more than slightly perturbed, the spaniard stopped him.

"Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"If you hadn't noticed, tomato-bastard, I'm locked out of my home with no keys. How in the _hell_ do you think I'm supposed to get there. Teleport?" He hissed. _Touchy_. The other smiled. There was the annoying asshole he knew. Knowing he was going to lament this decision in time, he patted his motorcycle.

"I can drive you to work, if it's not to far. Where are you going?"

Looking confusedly towards the spaniard, Lovino decided that this idiot must be the most clueless guy in the universe. He had just insulted the man, yet he was offered a ride. But, as the saying goes, don't look a gift horse in the mouth. The younger nodded slightly,muttering a thanks before accepting midnight blue helmet. He had been on motorcycles before for short rides. There wasn't much to it, you just had to hold on tight and lean with the turns. Quickly instructing Antonio which restaurant to go to, the tanned man revved the engine to let Lovino know they were about to ride. It was more than slightly awkward, and the smaller man felt like a woman. It wasn't so bad when you were riding with friends, but hugging an acquaintance was weird. Not that the spaniard seemed to mind. In fact, he seemed to, dare I say, _enjoy_ it. That perverted sadist, he knew that the man was to good to be true! Okay, forget that last thought.

In what seemed like only a matter of seconds, they slowly came to a stop.

" _¡Ya está!_ Our final destination has arrived." announced Antonio. He was happy that the roar of his motor had drowned out any insults the Italian may have shouted during the ride. It had actually been pleasant. Lovino dismounted and stepped onto the sidewalk that Antonio had pulled up by.

"Um, _grazie,_ I suppose." he said quietly, shifting his weight slightly. Antonio looked around nervously. Two shows of gratitude and decency in under an hour? Either the sun was about to explode or the dead were going to rise. Either way, that wasn't a good omen. Sensing no immediate demise, he smiled graciously.

" _De nada."_ the Spaniard easily replied.

The Italian nodded quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, I'll be going." he said, though it sounded a bit more like a question. Antonio smiled one last time before pushing off and riding into the sunset or something. (In reality, he was going to see Francis. The drunk frenchman had called him, sobbing melodramatically about how an accordion had stolen a kiss. Antonio was going to check on him to see whether or not he was high.)

Lovino sighed before turning on his heel, preparing himself for actual orders from actual bitches. The first thing he saw, or rather, felt, were arms wrapping around him in a tight hug. A squeal came from behind him.

"Oooooh! Lovino! Was that your boyfriend? He's so hot. You two make such a cute couple!"

The young man tried to spin around but was stopped by the other brunette's steely grip.

"No Elizabeta, that was _not_ my boyfriend. He's a tomato bastard who locked me out of my home and offered me a ride."

"Pet names already? So cute!" she sighed, clearly only half paying attention.

"What the hell are you- you know what? forget it." He sighed, making his way past his workplace's entrance and dragging the gushing woman behind him.

"Lovino's finally found the love of his life!" she happily announced as soon as the Italian had stepped through the kitchen doors. Everyone stopped and stared. While this was Lovino's first day on the job, since this place was fairly near campus, a lot of students he knew worked there. Therefore, just about everyone knew him and he knew everyone, if only by reputation. Alfred beamed and sent the young man a thumbs up.

"Good work dude!"

A pat on the back from a blond with wild hair, the party animal Mathias, almost knocked Lovino down. Much like the american, he didn't know his own strength. "I'll be sure to bring a six pack to your wedding!"

"If you don't drink it all first." came an emotionless deadpan from Lukas.

"We're not dating!"

"Check the cameras. We can use this as blackmail, aru." said a smiling Chinese man, Wang Yao. Apparently not getting the joke, or worryingly, actually understanding it and thinking it a good idea, a polish man disappeared to the security room. A muffled thump could be heard before a blond head popped back out.

"Found it! And it has, like, really clear audio."

Elizaveta grinned widely, a terrifying gleam in her eye. "I want a copy!"

"Me too!" chimed a small woman from Taiwan. They almost ran Feliks over in their quest for yaoi on tape. A triumphant shout came from inside the room.

"Hey guys! Check this out! I told you Lovino was a total tsundere! And his boyfriend is a catch."

"He's a neighbor!"

"Aw. So you two are never to far. How romantic." sighed Katyusha. The Italian had never face palmed harder.

 **Hope y'all liked it! by the way,**

 ** _¡Ya está!-_** **means there it is. It's like the Spanish equivalent of** ** _Voilá!_**

 ** _Grazie_** **\- Thank you (italian)**

 ** _De nada-_** **It's nothing**

 **This is apparently a comedy, according to my now hopefully changed genre. Sorry about not updating often, I only have a vague idea where this story is going. Thanks for reading! As always, please tell me if I spelled something wrong and please review. GRACIAS!**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


	6. Chapter 6: Let's have a sleepover

**Authors note: Hello again my lovelies! Sorry I forgot my disclaimer last time. Please don't sue me! \\(;_;)/ Anyways, the story shall now proceed.**

 **It was a dark and stormy night, and… I don't even know. I think I have a problem with writing true angst. Hope you don't mind.**

 **Disclaimer- Own not Hetalia I do (Who else is ready to watch the new Star Wars?!)**

 **Warning- *distant singing*** ** _Lovi has a potty mouth! Lovi has a potty mouth!_**

~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~

"Hey _fratello_! You're looking snazzy! Are you working here now?"

Lovino heard the sound of his brother's voice and sighed slightly. He loved his little bro to death, but now was not the time. Trying his best to ignore him, the Italian smiled at the elderly couple. "Will that be all?"

"Umm, wait a moment. I might want something else. What about you Frank?"

"I'm good. Unless you have apple pie?"

"Yes sir, we have apple pie."

"But Frank, you need to watch your weight! He has diabetes, you know." The small woman whispered the last sentence conspiringly, leaning in near the waiter who had been standing there for the last five minutes as the two tried to decide what they wanted to eat.

Why in the shitting world had he picked a job where he had to deal with actual people? Oh yeah, because it was the only opening in the vicinity.

"Lovino? Can't you hear me?" a pair of arms attached themselves around the brunet's neck, causing him to fall back slightly.

"Godda-" Oops, can't cuss. "-ang't" He finished lamely. "Feli, I'm working. I promise I'll talk to you afterwards."

The lady in front of him giggled. "Oh, are you brothers?"

Damn, she was going to start a conversation. He didn't want to hang around any more than necessary.

"Yep! He's my older brother. Isn't he great~?" As Feliciano started babbling, Lovino took this as his chance. Grabbing the menus, he made his escape back to the kitchen.

"Table 3 wants sautéed shrimp with garlic and a beef tortilla, replace the beef with chicken."

"Aiyah, why didn't they just order a chicken tortilla?" shouted Yao from behind the grill.

"How should I know? The customer is always right." Diners never ceased to amaze. It was like they left their common sense outside chained to a pole. Hurrying back out, he went to table nine.

"Hello, I'm Lovino. May I take your order?" He said hurriedly, not looking up.

"Of course you may." said the patron in a sultry voice. Shit, It was the wine-fucker, wasn't it. Looking up confirmed- no it didn't. That wasn't the frenchie from downstairs. In fact, it looked like a very inebriated blond with huge eyebrows. Wasn't that Alfred's boyfriend? Why did he sound french all of a sudden? In fact, how did he manage to get into this restaurant when he was so obviously wasted?

Glancing around in surprise, the young man caught sight of Alfred animatedly giving another couple the specials. Tapping his shoulder, he caught the american's attention. Pulling him aside with a slight apology to the customers, he hissed to Alfred. "Hey, we have a problem."

"Ha, no worries! I can fix it, after all, I'm the hero!"

Actually, he sounded more like Bob the Builder. "Yeah, well we have a drunk brit with an identity-crisis over at nine."

Hurriedly looking up, Alfred paled. "Aw, c'mon dude! Not again!"

Again? This had happened before? "Fix it. I'll take your orders."

Handing the smaller his notepad with some orders already written on it, the blue eyed man rushed to the table holding a slumped over drunk. Turning to the patrons, he apologized again. "Now, is that all, or would you like something else?"

"I think Lidia might want a chocolate cake. Isn't that right hon?"

"Are you trying to fatten me up Bill? Wait, what are your dessert options?"

Thus the endless cycle of "what about you's" started up again. By the end of his shift, Lovino felt like shooting himself and/or everyone else in this damned building. Either would give him a peaceful feeling of bliss.

After leaving, the college student was pleasantly astounded when a taxi came to a stop in front of him. Of course, where his luck was going, that was going to be the highlight of the day. Arriving at his apartment, Lovino wondered what the fuck he was going to do. He was still locked out. Gathering up all his pride and throwing it into a figurative volcano, the Italian rapped on Antonio's door.

"Oh! Hi Lovi!" This was embarrassing, but who else was he to turn to? Roma was going to be with his lady-friend all day since he was- God no, he was remembering it again. Fuckety fuck with ice cream on top.

Fidgeting slightly, Lovino blushed a bright red. "I know this is a bit much to ask, but do you mind if I stay here overnight?" He asked in an oddly formal voice. Blinking in surprise, Antonio smiled. A wolf whistle came from behind him with loud cheering.

"That's a home run for you, Antonio!" came a loud german voice. Antonio promptly whacked Gilbert in the head.

"Mind your manners mister, or I'll tell Ludwig." He said in a faux-serious voice. The albino shuddered with mock fear.

"Ooh, tell Luddy-kins! I'm so nervous!" he laughed.

"Ludwig? As in, Ludwig Beilschmidt?" asked Lovino curiously, the malice in his voice seemingly unheard.

"The one and only. You know him?" The german tilted his head questioningly.

The Italian grumbled. "Yeah, he's dating my little brother."

Gilbert grinned. "Well shit, your Feli's older brother?"

"There aren't many other Lovino Vargas's around, are there now?" he stated with a menacing glare. The albino didn't seem to understand that he should probably drop the topic. It was his funeral.

"Well then, that means I'll probably be your half bro in a couple years with the way those two are going. Welcome to the family!"

The Italian cringed at the thought. Half brothers with this monster? Just the thought of it made him want to gag. And nobody was marrying his little brother until his age was at least off the military clock. After that, they'd have to somehow charge through him and Roma to get to Feli. A war veteran and a man who acted as if he were in the mafia were not to mess with.

Wait a second. Was wine-fucker home? No way was he sleeping in the same room as that bastard. Miraculously, Antonio was suddenly enlightened for a few quick seconds and was able to read the Italian's nervous face.

"Don't worry. Francis won't be home for the rest of today. Apparently he's staying over at his date's house for… you know."

Lovino did know. Everyone was going at it like rabbits these days, weren't they. Not that he was jealous. Nuh-uh. Single life forever, thats the way he rolled. Totally. The college student somehow didn't completely believe that little voice in his head. "Okay then, so it's fine?" He could overlook the fact that Gilbert was staying in the same apartment. After all, Antonio seemed to have some semblance of control over him.

Antonio stepped back, opening up the hall to him. "It's fine, _mi amigo_." This man was truly a godsend for Lovi. He could see the halo of light surrounding the spaniard as angels sang in chorus. On the other hand, Gilbert was an interesting send. Probably from the same place the good lord created monstrosities like platypus's and cassowaries. Australia has some freaky animals.

 **Authors note: You know, sometimes I think that I should visit Australia. But then I remember my mortal fear of bugs. To all, merry Christmas, happy Hanukkah, happy Kwanzaa, and whatever else y'all celebrate. Happy holidays in general. I know I'm going to enjoy this winter break. Beware, winter is coming. XD**

 **You know what would be a great gift? Reviews. That's what.**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


	7. Chapter 7: Behold the cross-dressers

**Authors note: I started on the podcast Welcome to Night Vale. Oh my gosh, it is perfect. You have to start listening to it. I mean, it's sort of like the Adam's family and Twilight Zone and all those other great oldies mashed together into one fabulous mix. Also, sorry if Antonio seems a bit OOC in this but… I'll give you the reasons later. No need to spoil your next ten minutes of reading. Also, dreams are long paragraphs in italics and between apostrophes.**

 **Disclaimer- Me no owny Hetalia**

 **Warning- Do I even have to post this? Cussing, of course. It wouldn't be Lovi without it.**

 **~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~**

Lovino's eyes fluttered open slightly to the morning light streaming in through a nearby window. Dust particles flew suspended in the air, and the Italian absently watched them for a while. Trying to sit up, he noticed something strange. There seemed to be a heavy, warm weight on his noticeably bare chest. That's never a good sign, is it? Turning his head, he dreaded that he might be met with a hooker, or worse, Francis. He was somewhat pleasantly surprised when it was just Antonio.

Oh, something was wrong. He shouldn't be pleasantly surprised by this. He should be in a murderous rage. Lovino focused, willing himself to come up with some stunning insult, but strangely he wasn't in the mood. That settled it. Someone had slipped him a roofie.

With that being his final decision, he shifted ever so slightly so that he was facing the spaniard. They were mere inches apart now, and the Italian could feel the elder man's warm breath. Leaning into Antonio's face, he could see his slight stubble and full lips. Then he raised his leg and kicked.

Poor, poor Antonio didn't know what hit him. One moment he was dreaming about being a dreaded pirate and the next he was on the cold, hard ground. Puzzled, he patted around himself, still half asleep. The blanket had to be around here somewhere. Finally finding the edge of the bed, he pulled the light green comforter off Lovino and onto himself. The Italian shot up and tried to grab the blanket back, but it was no use. Antonio had an iron grip and wasn't about to surrender.

Muttering darkly, the younger man curled in on himself for warmth and tried to fall back asleep. Vaguely, he wondered why he had been sleeping in boxers with Antonio. Wait, what?

Lovino launched himself off the memory foam mattress with a surprising agility and rocketed over to the green eyed man. Grabbing the man's shirt in one hand and pulling his other fist back, he roughly shook the man awake. This would usually be surprising for such a physically passive man, but it had taken him fifteen minutes to realize he was sleeping with someone. Clearly he wasn't thinking straight.

"Hey, bastard! Why the hell was I in your bed?"

Antonio slowly woke up at first, but after seeing a fist in his face his instincts kicked in. He wrestled Lovino down so that he was on his hands and knees over the much weaker opponent. Seeming to finally realize what was going, he calmed down slightly. But not by much. This guy had come into his home, slept in his bed, kicked him off the edge, and was now threatening him? That's enough to make anyone blow up.

"Why do you think? You came into my bedroom in the middle of the night and asked to sleep with me! And I was nice enough to say yes for some reason."

"Oh." Lovino said in a small voice. He hadn't actually expected the spaniard to get mad. He wasn't sure what he had expected. The Italian slightly recalled havingd a nightmare last night, but he couldn't remember for the life of him what it was about. "Uh, yeah. Of course I knew…"

Sighing, Antonio shook his head. He got up and left the room quietly. The elder had seen how scared the Italian had gotten, but he didn't feel too guilty. The guy was lucky it was morning and he was still in a good mood. Had it been any later, the kid would have gotten the bashing he deserved. There's a reason Gilbert listened to the Spaniard. One drunken bar fight was all it took.

Lovino sat alone in the room, slightly shocked. For whatever reason, his heart clenched and he felt a bit like crying. It made no sense. Plenty of nice strangers had blown him off after he gave them enough trouble, how was this guy any different? Yet his emotions and logic were obviously not on the same wavelength. Slowly gathering himself, he got up and went up the door. Taking a left, he staggered back towards the guest bedroom where he was supposed to have stayed.

He started to remember the nightmare, but as soon as he realized what it was about he tried to push it back down. No use. It seemed as if the floodgates to hell had opened, and nothing could stop them now.

 _'_ _The dream was hazy at the edges, as not much needed to be recollected. A simple splash of color in the center of a vast painting. There had been a small blond boy with sky blue eyes. He had worn the funniest black hat, and the much younger Lovino had often liked to tease him for it. He distantly remembered that Feliciano quite liked this kid, to the point of him innocently stating that he was in love. Of course, their mother had nodded and smiled at this statement, their father warmly chuckling in his deep voice. Then the dream's landscape, a white portrait, suddenly turned black. The colors seemed inverted. As he stared in to the darkness, there was a shout. A sickening crunch pierced the gap, and then a splash of red across the canvas. Suddenly, the young boy returned, his sky blue eyes growing dull as he lay, his hat discarded and torn. The young boy who had traded his life for Lovino and Feliciano's. A scream ripped through the air, but Lovino couldn't remember who's it was. The looming adults gathering around? The small children who watched, not understanding? Or was it his own?'_

Lovino pushed open the sandy beige door to his bedroom, still deep in thought. Nearly tripping over the pile of clothes, the room looked like someone had rushed to escape. The blanket was a tangled mess and a pillow across the dream machine or whatever it was had finally slowed to a stop. The brunet made sure to push it all away. No need to mull over the meaning of it for to long. It was a long forgotten memory he no longer had any more need for. There. Stored back in it's box on a dusty shelf of repressed emotions. Done and done.

Crouching down, he pulled back on yesterday's shirt from the mass of clothing. A sweatshirt and his pants came up with the pile, an afterthought. There, now he was presentable to society.

Feeling around in his pocket, he made sure the flash-drive with his presentation for class was there. The Italian thanked his lucky stars that his past self had thought ahead and saved it in case something went wrong. He couldn't afford to fail this course. Glancing up at the clock, Lovino was glad he had arranged his schedule so that is classes were at noon. It was almost impossible for him to be late.

Walking down the hall, he supposed he should apologize to that tomato bastard. Seeing that more serious side of him (Which was very tame compared to when Antonio really got worked up) made him realize he really didn't want this guy for an enemy. Apologizing really wasn't Lovino's style, but he would bow down and grovel if it meant he could stay out of nasty situations. He really didn't need anymore foes.

Lovino casually strolled through the doorway in an attempt to look natural and totally not like he was eating whatever atomic size of pride he had left. These last few days really had it out for him.

The brunet was then assaulted by a very… _interesting_ sight.

It seemed that Antonio had gotten over their waking encounter, as he was now in a stunning dress. You got it right, a dress. A red skirt flowed around his ankles, ruffles adorning it's bottom, with a tight scarlet top. There was a scoop neck that stopped just short of his shoulders, with tight sleeves that ended in more ruffles on his mid-forearm. A " _traje de flamenca_ " (An outfit traditionally used for the flamenco) that looked surprisingly good on him. Like, really good.

Francis had followed his lead. The man was in a baby blue dress that looked like it belonged in medieval times. It had a layered skirt with a white trim on the edges. His gown had a white coat shown between the surcoat of his dress, frills adorning it's outline. The sleeves, much like Antonio's, ended mid-forearm, also with white ruffles. His long hair was tied back in a ponytail by a large baby blue bow. Strangely enough, he looked quite comfortable in the dress.

Finally, there was the ever-so-awesome Gilbert. An unidentified yellow ball sat in his hair and cheeped as he finished tying his boots. The white blouse went down to just below his knees, with puffed sleeves on his biceps. There was a black bodice over the blouse, with a full skirt and pitch apron to finish off the look. A german _dirndl._ (A traditional german dress. You know, like those dresses that milkmaids used to wear?)

"…What are you doing?" Asked Lovino, not sure he actually wanted to know.

"Dressing up as fabulous women." All three chorused. As if that weren't already obvious.

"Did someone put you up to this?" Hopefully this would easily explained as a lost bet or a dare. Please. Something not completely mind-fucking. Just a straight up, easy answer.

"Hm? Nah, Mathias and Alfred invited us to this awesome party down the street. If you don't bring beer, you have to cross-dress." Answered Gilbert as he finished lacing his knee-high boots.

Mathias and Alfred? Oh, lord no. Those party animals knew these hooligans. A meeting between these two groups could only mean chaos. And with that he was off, rushing himself out the door and completely forgetting the owed apology. That was going to come back and bite him. Hope he's got his rabies shots.

 **Authors note: Did you like the dream scene? I tried to make it as vague possible. Sortofnotreally. Anyways, long story short, a young boy had saved Feli and Lovi by pushing them out of the way of** ** _'insert dangerous object here'_** **and died in the process. Can you guess who? Hint hint: do you really need one? I sort of spelled it out with the hat, blond hair and blue eyes, and the fact that Italiano had a crush on the kid. Just to let you know, the Vargas's parents are alive and kicking. They just live in another state. You'll be sure to hear from them sometime soon, don't worry.**

 **Also, the deal with Spain. I don't really think he was too OOC, but some people are used to the ever-so-cheerful country of sun and passion. Here's the thing. After Spain first received Romano, he tried to trade him for Feliciano. Obviously they didn't hit it off so well. So no immediate magical crush on Antonio's part. I'm not really the type to give someone a love complex without reason, and Romano has been really grating on the guy. I know I would have snapped long before, and Toni's not actually a country in this. Antonio hasn't lived as long or interacted with as many people. Only 26 years to 2000. So, long story short, Lovino's lucky Antonio hasn't booted him into next week.**

 **Lovino's relationship with the rest of the trio is almost nonexistent. He's afraid of France and unsure of Gilbert, though his anger issues sort of taint this overall view. I'm trying to get his actual attitude towards characters in line with the real ones. Though I will shift things around for writings sake and make sure that Romano isn't terrified of freaking everyone. Seriously. I mean, America, Britain, Russia, France, everyone who I hold near and dear to my heart… Why must you make things so hard? Ahh well.**

 **In case you haven't noticed, Lovi's falling for Antonio. Mm-hmm. The emotionally retarded man is falling for the guy who doesn't particularly like him. Now then, I hope the drama will just get off it's lazy ass and hurry up. I can't stand all of this rising action.**

 **If you made it through this author's note, I commend you. Congratulations! I know I would have skipped. I have such double standards…**

 **Reviews please! I don't believe you realize they mean the world to me. Remember, none of us get paid for this. Therefore, I need another motivator. And your opinions are a really good motivator! XP**

 **REVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEWREVIEW**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


	8. Chapter 8: Breaking in (With permission)

**Author's note: 'Allo! I just found this magical link in my emails that allows me to reply to any and all reviews! (Except guests, duh) So if you get a reply months after you posted it, that's why.**

 **Also, I've decided to give a shout out to** ** _jessio_** **. Thanks for all the reviews! Next, I should probably have pointed out that the description for the dresses the trio wears is actually from a photo. I can't put a link, but it's basically the BTT crossdressing with Germany, Romano, and Canada looking on in horror. It's pretty popular, so it should be easy to find if you're interested. It's pretty hard to miss.**

 **Disclaimer- I don't own them. This is . I wouldn't be writing** ** _fan fiction_** **if I owned them. I would just make it all canon.**

 **Warning- Must I still put this? Cuss-Cuss-Cussing.**

 **~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~**

Two college students walked alongside each other on the cement sidewalk on campus. One, a psychology major, and the other majoring in business. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke.

Now, a description should be had. On the right was a tall young man, with long blond hair and blue eyes, violet when the sun hit them right, hidden behind round glasses. The most prominent feature was a curly ahoge that he couldn't get to stay down. He was a soft spoken Canadian, the polar opposite of his elder american brother.

On the left was Lovino, a couple inches shorter but with an equal amount of social capability. However, where Mathew couldn't get others to hear him, Lovino couldn't shut up. They made an odd pairing, but appearances deceive. The two complemented each other, one voice making up for the other's lack thereof.

The blond looked over at his unusually quiet friend, the student seemingly lost in thought. "Lovino?" He asked, prodding the man's shoulder slightly as they strolled along their path.

"Oh, hmm? What is it?"

"I was just wondering about your apartment. You haven't talked about it much. I don't suppose I could come visit some time?"

The Italian groaned. "You know, I would let you visit, but some _bastards_ locked me out." He shouted the word bastards with a emphasis, as if hoping the insult would somehow reach those he spoke of. Somewhere in the world, Antonio, Francis, and Gilbert collectively sneezed.

"What? Can't you just jimmy the lock?" Asked Mathew, as if that answer was obvious. Lovino just stared.

"Well, excuse me if can't break into other people's houses, I don't know what _you_ do for fun."

Mathew flushed slightly. " _Sorry_ Ms. Perfect if my extracurricular activities bother you. I'll have you know that my family likes to forget I'm still outside and lock me out."

The Canadian's pleasant facade was slipping, as it often did when he was around those he was comfortable with. The passive-aggressive beast was slowly making it's way out of it's obscure cave. Beware to those who pass.

"You sure it's not just Alfred who's locking you out?"

Mathew's eyes widened. "That _dick_! I'm going to get him for that, I swear. This has been going on for fuckin' years."

The brunet laughed before looking at the blond carefully. "You really can break into my house for me? Your not just pulling my leg."

"Of course I can. I'm not some liar. I can do important things, unlike _some people._ "

"That was one fucking time!" Protested the elder.

~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~

That's how they ended in front of Lovino's house. It looked really shifty to Lovino, which meant it would look even worse to an outsider. Which is why the Italian stood guard. It really didn't help his case.

Mathew was making an easy conversation as he picked Lovino's multiple locks, (What can I say? The kid's paranoid.) as opposed to the shorter's nervous behavior. Small talk such as the weather, school, hey by the way did you know my boyfriend lives downstairs, and many other mundane topics.

"Oi, back up a sec. Your boyfriend lives downstairs? It's that cuban guy, right?"

"Juan is just a friend. We hang out for ice-cream, that's all. My boyfriend's Ludwig's older brother, but don't freak out. They're nothing alike. His name's-"

"Goddamit, you're dating the Prussian-bastard, aren't you?"

Pausing for a second, the blond looked up. "Did you just call him Prussian? You know that country's long gone, right? Anyways, he's a good guy once you get past his rough exterior. I mean, I used to think he was a hoser, and look at me now."

Though Lovino was still reeling in horror, he snickered.

"What?" Mathew asked.

"You said hoser, eh." This was a sore point for Mathew, having grown up in America. And once Lovino had discovered it, he wouldn't let up on it.

"I did not! Shut up!"

"Oh, should I stop talking _aboot_ that? Is it getting on your _fookin'_ nerves?"

Mathew reared back, about to let loose on his famous three hour rant, when they were interrupted.

"Hey birdie! What're you doing here?"

Dammit. You know, thinking back on it, his life had sort of always been like this. Maybe God had it out for him? Karma doesn't drag on for this long.

Gilbert grabbed Mathew into a hug. Francis and Antonio predictably followed behind, Francis hurrying in joining the hug-fest. " _Salut Mathieu! Où as-tu été ces derniers jours? Ton grand-frère manquais tu!_ " (Hi Mathew! Where have you been these days? Big brother missed you!)

Antonio stood next to Lovino, both feeling the pain of a third wheel. The Italian looked puzzled. " _Grande-frère_? That means big bro, right? They related?"

The elder gave Lovi the incredulous 'you talkin' to me?' look. "Ahh, no. From what I've heard, Francis grew up with him and tried to take over the position. Something about territory and rivalry with Arthur." He said Arthur with a extra layer of distaste. The Italian was sure there was some story behind it. A long, tragic one he didn't care about.

"Okay, break it up bastards. We've got stuff to do, dammit."

Mathew managed to worm his way out of their grip, shooting them a dirty glare. "I couldn't breathe."

Gilbert cackled, attacking Mathew with a bear hug from behind. Sighing, the blond slowly dragged his boyfriend back to the door before crouching down and resuming his previous occupation. The albino just kind of hung onto him awkwardly, showing no signs of future release. Antonio looked down at Mathew's work curiously.

"Why are you breaking in? You know that's illegal." He asked politely. No one seemed to mind the act though, just standing by idly and chatting. Lovino stopped short from punching the brunet in the shoulder.

"Don't you remember! You fucking locked me out, idiot!"

"If you wanted to pick the lock you could have just asked."

The Italian glared at the tanned man for a moment, making him uncomfortable. Everyone he knew was a fucking criminal, weren't they. He must have gotten it from his father's side. Most knew that that side of the family was entangled with drug lords. They just weren't sure how.

One quiet click later Mathew swung the door open. Before Lovino could take a step, everyone ran inside. By everyone, that was actually insinuating the bad touch trio. The quiet blond stood holding the door and looking slightly disheveled before politely walking in, and Lovino closed the door with a resounding thud.

The first thing to notice was that the apartment was eerily quiet. Not a peep came from the trio before him, which had stopped at the living room.

Gilbert's voice rang out. "You don't think we'll have to pay for the leak our ceiling's going to have?"

"Why don't we settle the debt on Lovi's shoulders? It's his water."

Stepping forward, the student spoken of registered that his nice floor was quite a bit more glistening and soggy then it was when he left it. Wading his way over his squishy rug, he opened the door to his kitchen with a almost tangible reluctance. Everyone followed in silence, sensing that trouble was abrew.

All the taps in the kitchen were on. At full blare, nonetheless. The silver sinks were clogged with dishes that the brunet hadn't had time to wash, therefore only allowing the water to go up and out. The cabinets were open and soggy pieces of cat food and human food alike were scattered across the floor, floating slightly. It was chaos, and in the center of it all, sitting on his kitchen table, was a cat. A very satisfied looking cat.

Lovino's eye twitched,and his mouth opened once or twice with no sound coming out. The trio looked at him worriedly, but Mathew was more scared for the fate of the kitten.

It probably wasn't going to get out of this alive, unless someone buried it in Pet Sematary. Then it would wreak it's horrible havoc upon the world, if it weren't for the fact that her ex-owner would probably be delighted to kill the poor fluff ball all over again. Ah, the never-ending circle of life. Such a beautiful thing. As they say in layman's terms, if it breathes it must eventually die. No matter how many times one must put it down.

 **Author's note: STOP. Don't call PETA. I promise Lovino's not a cold-hearted killer of animals. People, on the other hand… So, sorry again if you think either Canada or Romano or both are really OOC. Ever read** ** _Part Right, Half Wrong, a Third Crazy_** **? It's influencing my outlook on Canadia's personality. As for Romano, well, he's got to have different sides to his personality. Everyone does. Like, I'm the quiet girl in the classroom, the obnoxiously loud fangirl, and overlord to all of my (few) friends. There. Three different sides. I figure Lovino's a bit like that too. Minor asshole, major asshole, adorable little defenseless asshole, and bashful apologetic/thankful asshole. I'm sure there are many more, but those are the main ones.**

 **Anyways, now for some personal ramblings. It's snowing! SNOW! YAY. So school was canceled. Also, my new and first Wacom Intuos Comic just came in and I am so very delighted. I might post the "link" to my DeviantArt account as soon as I can figure out the freaking thing. Homestuck alert, I'm at the point where I don't understand their romances. Like, I understand the first four, but things get fuzzy after that. Midterms are a pain, and I'm pretty sure I failed my french speaking exam. I got through four awful sentences on the time of two minutes. We were supposed to come up with twelve, but I was taking to long. WOOOH! I'm so screwed.**

 **Tell me if I grammered, spelled, or did anything else terribly and unforgivably wrong. As always, REVIEW OR I SHALL STEAL YOUR SOUL. Or at least steal some of your cookies. Mmmm, cookies.**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


	9. Chapter 9: Beer, women, fights, oh my

**Authors note: So… yeah. Nothing vital to report on. Just to let you know, when nothing happens, I, the author, feel the need to make smart-ass comments in my stories. There aren't many, but I'm not about to go back and delete them. Oh, yeah! I almost forgot. Just watched Hotarubi no Mori e! Really nice movie, totally didn't make me really cry for the first time in three years. If you're in the middle of a breakup, watch this movie. It'll make you feel A LOT BETTER. (About how your life is.)**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia**

 **Warning: Cussing**

 **~~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~~**

Lovino looked down in disbelief at his receipt. Fucking cheap-ass insurance. Refusing to pay for water damage because unnatural causes don't come with the the clause. Not his fault that he didn't think that being " _locked out of the house by a fucking annoying neighbor only to break back in and find out the cat has flooded it_ " was necessary in fine print. That should be left unsaid. Even the constitution stated it. Implied powers from the expressed. Goddam lawyers, always finding loopholes.

Sitting heavily onto his couch on his newly dried rug, he heard a squawk as Micina shot out from under him. Served her right. She's the one who got him into this mess. Lovino should have called a locksmith. Only a couple hundred to get in and stop the water, instead of a thousand dollars to dry it all back up.

The horror, the despair, the fucking _second job_ he'd have to get _._

This called for gallons of alcohol in which to drown his sorrows. Grabbing the keys off his granite countertop, next to his newly refurbished cabinets and sink (Now toddler, cat, and idiot-proof), he walked out. The Italian was very careful to double-check that he had everything. No need to recreate _that_ particular mishap.

Opening his formerly-scarlet-458-Italia-Ferrari-now-silver-Ford-Mustang, he almost teared up. His beautiful baby, now sold to afford his apartment. It had been a stunning gift for his seventeenth birthday from his filthy rich uncle. (Who was now in jail for reasons the FBI wouldn't discern)

Driving in this… monstrosity couldn't hold a light to what he used to have. It didn't have the same power to go from 0 to 120 mph in six seconds. The rush of adrenaline you got when you stomped down on the gas pedal, the looks of awe and envy from peers. Nope. This car would do in a practical, everyday situation, but Lovino was far from practical. He wanted the sleek and stylish wonder he had once owned, dammit.

Feliciano, lucky bastard, still had his gold Lambourghini Veneno. But that wasn't the point. This story is about Lovino, not his little bro.

About twenty minutes later, the brunet arrived at a structure of forgotten woes and blind happiness. The bar. It was a white brick building, not a stereotypical alley, thank you very much. Modern and chic, with long windows showing a dimly lit wooden floor and a sparse crowd, it was located in the good side of town. No need to get drunk and mugged. He almost smiled as he walked in through the revolving doors. (That's got to be a pain to crawl out of when shitfaced.)

Sitting on a black vinyl swivel chair in front of the bartender, thankfully no one he knew, he ordered a martini. A perfect, wet vodka, shaken and straight up on the rocks, martini. Might as well start strong. As the delicacy was being created, he scanned the area around him. Nice, quiet, and as homey as a bar could be. The nearest person was an elderly man two seats to the right nursing his gin.

Suddenly alert, he looked around again with more purpose. His spidey-senses were tingling. Not really, but there was a damsel or a really feminine man in distress in the near vicinity.

"Hey, hold my drink for a sec, would ya'? I forgot something." He asked the bartender. The young blond woman, uninterested, nodded vaguely as she raised her hand flippantly.

"Sure, sure. Not like I have anything else to do."

" _Grazie, bella_." He responded as he hurried out. Now then, where was she? He was, after all, a defender of beautiful ladies all over. Especially damsels who would swoon over him as he swooped in.

A emphatic voice called rose from around the corner. "I must insist that you leave me alone, you disgraceful hooligans!" A young woman shouted, her face flushed. She had long, rich chocolate hair that was slightly pulled back, a amethyst holding it in place. An old-fashioned white dress with a light purple trim and a single flyaway hair were adorned, giving her an elegant appearance. The creep who blocked her way, gripping her left arm, smirked.

"C'mon pretty lady, I just want to buy you a drink or two." Oh, how dull. Typical thick-headed gorilla. No character development at all. For shame!

Leaning against the wall and exuding a cool guy attitude, you could practically see the sparkles coming of of Lovino.

"Can't you see you're upsetting the lady, you asshole?" he called arrogantly. The stunning woman in front of him shot him a grateful smile as the man's attention was diverted. He turned and let go of the woman's forearm. Finally able to reach into her handbag, the brunette pulled out… was that lipstick? As the man in front of her screamed in pain, Lovino became aware that it was not Coral Blue number 5 semi-lip gloss, but was, in fact, a taser. Interesting.

The elegant lady hurried up to him. "Thank you for the assistance, sir. It was of a great duty on your part." And with a peck on the cheek, she was gone into the bright afternoon sun, an angel in disguise.

Score one for the Italian.

Happily walking way from his scene of heroism, I'll let you guess. Yep. He was stopped by everyone's new favorite gorilla. The Fates were probably up there laughing their asses off as Lovino suffered.

"Where do you think you're going?" The noticeably really buff fellow demanded as he pushed the younger into a conveniently placed alleyway.

Now was the time when the protagonist realizes that he is weaker than his little freaking brother, and often hid behind him in times or great fear. Oh, the majestic bravery that is he.

As the gorilla with awful, rank breath loomed over the (totally not shaking in fear dammit!) brunet, he shut his eyes tight.

Just to let you know, Lovino was in a position where the giant in front of him wouldn't allow him to knee, kick, or otherwise harm him. Also, it wouldn't do much damage since the tomato enthusiast was born for speed, not strength. Or brains, but that's a whole other matter. Just so you don't scream at his utter lack of common sense.

~~~~TOMATOES~~~~

Antonio watched the scene unfold as he sat outside the café, calmly drinking his cappuccino. It was surprisingly decent of Lovi to step in for that woman. Maybe he wasn't as much of a dick as he had thought.

The floored man, with multiple piercings and a tattoo across his arm that spelled "Your dead" with no apostrophe, slowly crawled back up. The fair dame kissed the amber-eyed man on his cheek, and the student's face bloomed into a tomato crimson. The young man watched with a dazed smile on his face as the brunette waved a slight goodbye, hips swaying as she sashayed away.

The spaniard had hoped that Ugly would slink back to whatever hole he crawled up from, but nope. The sorry kid really had it in for him. Wonder which gypsy he pissed off?

When the wanna-be gang member's hand clamped onto his neighbor's shoulder, the emerald-eyed man sprang into action. Vaulting over the iron fence that separated the outdoor dining area from the sidewalk, he raced across the street. Nobody was getting hurt on his watch. At least, nobody he knew and could consequently be sued for, since he didn't intervene.

As he saw the terrified Italian's face, his heart melted into a sappy puddle. Okay, now this was personal. Lovino was too cute to be bruised. Walking down the alleyway, he grinned. He wasn't to prone to violence nowadays, but that was the key part. _Nowadays._

~~~~~TOMATOES~~~~~

Lovino saw his damn neighbor out of the corner of his eye. Goddamit, even in this situation the tomato-bastard was beaming. But something wasn't right. He was smiling brightly in the way the Hannibal Lector might, or the Cheshire cat. It wasn't a happy smile, or at least a sane one. The man's eyes were narrowed in a way that chilled the Italian to the bone.

" _Hola, amigo mío_. I was wondering if you could spare a moment to talk about our Lord and savior, Jesus Christ?"

Both idiot and tomato-face were utterly befuddled. Turning his head slightly to see who the damn psycho was who asked him the question when he was in the middle of beating someone up, he felt a sharp right hook come at his jaw. Staggering backwards and forced to release his prey, he finally caught his balance and landed in a defensive position.

Lovino scurried over and cowered behind the spaniard and was in no way admiring the guy's ass. Fear did not make him jumpy and distract him like that. Never.

The tanned man's eyes glinted and his jaw was tightly set. His posture's body language was confident in a way that absolutely screamed alpha. This was a man who was used to fighting, whether on the streets or for fun. Not someone to fuck around with.

Antonio's footsteps were quiet and his fists balled. Even the lug knew a dangerous man when he saw one. Still, he had to smirk. The individual was at least five inches smaller and half his muscle mass. Though the guy might have some skills, they were no match for his sheer braw. Or so he told himself.

"Odd, that should have knocked you out. I hope I'm not getting rusty." The curly haired man said amiably. Tough guy routine, but Gorilla was sure the spaniard was quaking in his boots. "Maybe it's the lack of a brain? Or maybe that extra thick skull."

That's it. No insults on his intelligence, or lack thereof. With a roar, he charged toward Antonio. The roar soon changed to a small whimper as he looked up from the ground, a muddy brown boot planted on his chest, but no passers-by were around to hear it. A bitter metallic taste crept into his mouth and his head felt like cotton. The last thing he saw before everything faded to black were two eyes, coldly glowering down at him. The last thing he heard;

"Thank you for your time. God bless."

 **Author's note: I feel as if it's bad that I fangirled over my new chapter. Is that self-centered? I think it's self centered. Just to let you know, I'm really proud with how this fight scene turned out. I don't care what anyone else thinks, I'm really proud. By the way, tough-guy's name was Jeremy. I just felt as if I should throw that out there. Do with it what you will. I didn't really base him off of anything other then the traditional bad guy, so don't try and look for some country he was inspired by. Speaking of countries, can anyone guess who Miss Old-fashioned was? Shouldn't be that hard if you look around. Oh, but how I would have loved to be in her place! The kissing Lovi place, not the getting harassed place. You know, I think tough pirate/conquistador Spain is hot as hell. And I'm pretty sure I'm not alone in that. So, with that mentality, where do you think Antonio got his fighting prowess? You're answer isn't going to change what I've planned, but it might be nice to see who else thinks like me. Also, Romano is so spoiled! I would kill for a Ford Mustang! Or, you know, a car in general.**

 **Now then, today on "Guess the reference corner"**

 **Q. Spidey-Senses? Hur-dur, what do you mean by that?**

 **Ever heard of Spiderman?**

 **Blue number 5? Why so specific?**

 **, someone hasn't been studying up on their Spongebob.**

 **Q. What do you mean by the gypsy that Lovi pissed off, oh great LollipopTurtle?**

 **Reference to the horror movie Thinner. Can't blame you if you didn't get that one.**

 **Last of all, the scenario where Romano helped out the nice lady? Stole that from a comic Himuraya made about how South Italy defends women from creeps.**

 **Remember dearies! Reviewing keeps the boogeyman away at night! Don't want to have centipedes crawl in your ears as he makes you count backwards from 1000 by 7, do you? I love Tokyo Ghoul… Anyways, Reviews are always loved! Thanks to Varanus K for correcting my Spanish so long ago, I am now putting it in use. See! Reviewing pays off. So REVIEW.**

 **May lollipops fall from the sky and all turtles fly,**

 **LollipopTurtle**


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